


Fair Exchange

by GloriaMundi



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: C17, Historical, M/M, POV First Person, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-08
Updated: 2007-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tables turned: sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/44230/">Barter</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair Exchange

They know me at the Bride in Tortuga -- aye, an' know my word's good, an' not to meddle in what don't concern 'em. An' whose business is it but mine if I've company in my bed, eh? Not but what I don't have honest business, too, with Molly who runs the bar downstairs: the Bride's my market-place, an' Molly the best customer of my wares. It's good rum, this, an' I won't hear no one say elsewise. An' he, this Sparrow bloke we found on Island Three, he's as good as a carnival barker, he is, the way he knocks the stuff back an' sings its praises to any who'll listen.

Can't help but listen meself. Never heard no one with such words in 'im! Half of it's nonsense, o' course: talk of gods an' ghosts an' nameless things (though he had me startin' at shadows all one night, with his tales) an' their relish for fine spirits an' good cheer.

"Tell you, no word of a lie," he's sayin', "there's men who'll come back from Hell for good rum: and, gentlemen, I don't mean the pallid watery mess that passes for rum in some of the local hostelries -- naming no names, but I'm sure you know the venues to which I refer -- nor the diluted dregs, topped up with cat-piss and stored in an empty sugar-sack overnight, that they've the temerity to term 'rum' in His Majesty's Navy (not, of course, that any of you'd be familiar with that organisation, fine upstanding scoundrels and scallywags that you are), but no! My friend, here --" an' he's flourishing a hand at me, baring his teeth in a glittery smile; "my friend Mathias ships the finest rum in all Tortuga, as I live to tell the tale: this rum's both food and drink to me, more than mother's milk, and it's put fire in my veins and iron in my bones -- aye, a man'd come back from Hell for a draught of this!"

An' so on and so forth. It's as good as the fairground, an' I won't deny it's shiftin' more bottles than usual for the Bride. If he don't shut up soon, I'll be out of stock.

Lucky that mouth's good at more than one thing.

I beckon Sparrow up the stairway, an' he follows me, reelin' like a sailor on a stormy sea, though the bottle's steady in his hand.

"That was a right pretty speech," I tell 'im. "Now, I reckon it's time we're done talking: an' I reckon you owe me plenty for what you knocked back tonight."

"Knocked back?" says Sparrow, lookin' at me like I've waved a dead rat under his nose. "Knocked back? The evening's consumption, sir, was for purposes of advertisement. Can't be taken seriously if I don't practice what I preach, now, can I?"

He's got a point, but I ain't about to admit it. More than rum, I wan' that mouth on me again. Best bargain I ever struck, that: take the fellow 'long with us when we left Island Three, and keep 'im to warm my bed (aye, an' me in it!) after. We've been in Tortuga near a week now, an' he ain't complaining, if I do say --

"I'm very much afraid," he's sayin', "that we've come to a parting of the ways, Matthias."

"Wha'?"

"This is the end of it, mate," says Sparrow, with that toothy smile that shows off all his gold but don't get as far as his eyes. "This is where I bid you adieu. Farewell. Bon voyage. Goodbye. Savvy?"

"What the fuck --" I begin, but then I realise that he's pointin' a pistol at me -- nice bit o' work, that, an' not a piece I've seen before -- an' worse, he's stone cold sober. Never mind the rum he's been neckin' at my expense, he's lookin' at me with a black deadly look, an' all of a sudden I've never felt less like fuckin' a fellow.

"Knew you'd see it my way," says Sparrow, keepin' the pistol on me as he crosses the room and grabs my coat. "No hard feelings, mate," he carries on, "it's been most delightful doing business with you, and I'll be sure to recommend you to all my ... friends." He's got the coat on, now, and he slips the half-empty bottle into one deep pocket. "Best o' luck, mate. And don't worry -- I'll do the same by you, if ever we cross paths again."

Oh, he's got a sweet mouth and a sweet arse, but the brain inside that pretty skull is sharp an' black an' spiky, an' I want 'im gone, not pokin' around in my pockets.

"Oi! Tha's mine!"

He's hefting my purse in his hand. "Services rendered, sir," he says, cold as anything.

"Now wait a minute!" I cry. "We had a deal! I took you off that little spit o' land, and you made it worth my while, eh? We're square!"

"Are we, now? I'd say I've paid my passage all the way to Singapore, this last fortnight. Don't suppose you're heading that way?"

I've never heard o' the place, an' no doubt my face shows it.

"I thought not," says Sparrow, jingling the gold in my pouch. "So I'll take this in kind -- and this fine coat, most kind -- and call it quits. What say you?"

"You better leave me the rum," is what I say, and I turn my back on him. I'd just as soon forget Jack Sparrow an' his mouth an' his deals. Lucky that oblivion's my trade.

-end-


End file.
